


Heartbeats

by mautadite



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8406457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/pseuds/mautadite
Summary: Toast cares little for the poeticism of simple survival; she wants to live.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhoenixFalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFalls/gifts).



> You requested two of my favourite ships, and I couldn’t resist turning it into an OT3. Hope you like! :)

Between Furiosa and the Valkyrie, there are so many ghosts that live under their skin, chasing memories and agony to the surface. Theirs is a shared pain of a dying, dead place, of tombs in the sand, of the many mothers who gave up everything for the promise of their children’s future. They are the strongest women that Toast knows, and they shore up every new burden that comes with the ebb and flow of time. 

With every passing day, with every new seed planted, those ghosts fade. When they’re like this, with her, Toast is pleased to see that they disappear completely. Toast cares little for the poeticism of simple survival; she wants to take everything that they fought for, everything that the women like them created, and _live_. And she’s going to do it with them. Furiosa and the Valkyrie have many things in common, and now Toast is one of them.

Furiosa is smiling. It’s a thing that Toast loves to see. At the moment, she cannot return it; the Valkyrie is tracing long, slow lines down the lips of her cunt, and Toast quivers and gasps at every faint touch. She starts high, trailing those long, calloused fingers over her abdomen and the stark jutting lines of her hipbones, with agonising slowness into the valley of her thigh and pelvis, then through her curls, so light she can barely feel it. Toast writhes, and she can see that the Valkyrie is smiling too, through the dark curtain-fall of her angel-like hair.

“Breathe,” says Furiosa, faintly amused, as if she’s enjoying this. (Toast knows she enjoys this.)

“I am breathing,” she gasps, as her skin comes over with prickles again.

Toast twists her legs together. Furiosa has both her wrists pinned above her head in just the way she likes; gently, so that Toast could break free if she really wanted to, but with her metal hand, so that in the morning, Toast will be able to see those faint bruises that she loves. The Valkyrie loves them too; she’ll take Toast’s wrists into her hands betimes, whispers words that she cannot understand, and trace the faint marks with her lips and tongue.

Right now, the Valkyrie is taking her apart just like she would a gun. She arches up to take one of Toast’s nipples into her mouth, scrape the dark bead with her teeth, suckle it until it’s wet and hard. Toast keens, because she does it so _slow_ , everything seems to happen one inch at a time, in small explosions all over her body. Furiosa’s hand is a warm anchor on her stomach, grounding her, but Toast can’t help her shakes. She wants more, _more_ , until the whole world is bursting with colour and sound.

Furiosa has already come once for the night, the Valkyrie twice. Toast likes for them to save her for last; she likes the build, the slow creeping anticipation, the heat that she gets from the Valkyrie’s bitten lip further bruised by Furiosa’s mouth, from the Imperator’s cries when the Valkyrie sinks her fingers deep inside her. Toast is hot all over now. Furiosa’s smile, and the gentle prison of her metal hand, and the Valkyrie’s fingers, and the whispery touches of her hair on her torso and thighs, they all make her feel like she could burn through the bed. She rolls her hips, trying to get her cunt to press against the sheets, but it’s not enough.

The Valkyrie leans up closer to look Toast in the eyes. Hers are the prettiest colour Toast has ever seen; partially green like the place she’d once hoped for; partially brown like that rocks and sands that they have made their home. Val kisses her briefly, taking her breath away, and then whispers,

“Spread your legs, sweetness.”

Immediately, her knees fall open, and a heavy tension plummets to the pit of her stomach. The quickness of it makes her blush, but the Valkyrie smiles, and gives her another kiss as thanks.

She makes her way back down Toast’s body, stopping once to share a slow, feverish kiss with Furiosa. Toast loves looking at them together, with all their strength and their scars and their mutual hurts. Combined, they make a beautiful thing, and there is a very fulsome satisfaction that Toast gets from watching Furiosa give someone else that look, from way the Valkyrie accepts it with a tenderness that traverses years.

Furiosa’s hand is making small circles on her stomach now, and it curves upwards and upwards by degrees, until she’s caressing Toast’s breasts, pinching them softly with blunt fingers and sending lightning spikes to Toast’s core. Settling between Toast’s legs, the Valkyrie spreads her knees wider, looking at her. It makes Toast feel bold, to be so exposed, but it also makes her blush something terrible, especially when the Valkyrie bites down on her bottom lip. One of her fingers alights on Toast’s stomach, just below her navel, and makes a leisurely journey downwards, following the little trail into her curls, until the finger rests atop her clit. _Tap._ Very mildly, with barely any pressure, but to Toast it feels like a punch to the gut.

“Please,” she says, chest heaving. Liquid heat slings low in her stomach, and she turns to press her face against her arm. 

“I think she’s ready to come,” Furiosa says casually, flicking one of her nipples.

“Yes,” she gasps, shuddering.

“I think you might be right,” the Valkyrie replies, trailing the fingers of one hand up and down Toast’s thighs, both of which are slick with her dampness. The index finger of her other hand still rests on her clit. Val continues, addressing Toast this time. “Look at me.”

It takes a gigantic effort, because her heart is beating so fast it feels like it wants to burst, and she feels as light-headed as a chrome-drunk war boy. But she does it; she drags her face away from her arm to look at her lovers. They’re both smiling as Valkyrie lifts her finger, and brings it back down onto Toast’s clit with another soft, slow tap.

Her stomach flips.

“Please,” she whines out again. Valkyrie only smiles more, and flicks her again, and again, in the most even measured space, barely firm enough to feel. Tap. Tap. _Tap._ Toast writhes, pressure building between her legs, but it’s not _enough_. Furiosa has switched her hand to Toast’s other breast, rolling the tip between her fingers. She still has Toast’s wrists trapped above her head. Toast could break away if she wanted, bring her hand down to her clit to relieve the thundering ache, tease herself to completion while her lovers look on.

She won’t, and they all know it.

Tap, tap, tap. The Valkyrie’s smile widens with each pulse, each gasping breath, each poorly articulated plea. There’s no relief for Toast; she can’t press her legs together to put pressure on her clit, there’s nothing for her to rub up again or press down upon. There’s just the delicious, tortuously slow build to orgasm, an ache that’s so carefully constructed that it feels divine.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap…

The Valkyrie stops.

For a moment, Toast can’t believe it; her heart leaps up to her throat. Her thighs are tense, she’s so wet that she’s soaking into the sheets, and Furiosa and the Valkyrie are looking at her with those angelic smiles that would be the death of her on any occasion, but they’re especially devastating now.

“Oh god,” she gasps, batting away the instinctive tears that well up. “Let me… please…”

Furiosa cups her cheek, and kisses it.

“Of course.”

With that, the Valkyrie delves between her legs, put her mouth to Toast’s clit and sucks hard, and Toast screams a little, it feels so good. Her hips roll with the motion of Valkyrie’s lips, and Furiosa puts her mouth back to her breast, and she feels electric and tight all over. It doesn’t take long for her to come, going rigid with pleasure, pressing her cunt to the warmth of the Valkyrie’s lips, muffling her cry against Furiosa’s lips when she kisses her.

They kiss her all over: her legs, her arms, her stomach and neck, until they’re curled around her. Toast is still trying to catch her breath, and they make it hard with how close they are, how tenderly they touch her, how much she loves them. 

“Okay?” the Valkyrie asks, and it’s all Toast can do to nod, kissing her cheek, trailing a light touch across Furiosa’s weathered brow.

They are many ghosts between Furiosa and the Valkyrie, but they are fading every day. In this world where death is constantly reaching out with both hands, Toast knows that she is immeasurably lucky to have found them both. She looks at their hands, linked together on the soft brown of her stomach. In moments like these, safe in the knowledge that her home has two heartbeats, she never feels more alive.


End file.
